Even though Malta is one of the most densely populated countries in Europe, there are nevertheless places you can walk that take you into the countryside and you can feel as though you are far from the madding crowd. One such place is a walk down a steep gorge into the valley that time forgot where a shepherd tends his flock of sheep and goats and there is a very pretty chapel called The Church of St Paul the Hermit built in an enclave on the side of the cliff.
The church displays information about its history. According to legend, there was once a saintly man who was a hermit and lived in the enclave. However, rather than keep himself to himself as you might imagine a good hermit should, he took to berating the local shepherds for their 'licentious' lifestyles. I had to look that one up in my mobile phone's dictionary. To save any readers who are as ignorant as me from doing the same, it means immoral, lewd and lascivious. I'm not quite sure how some shepherds living in the middle of nowhere would have had the opportunity for such a lifestyle, regardless of their desire. Perhaps their sheep bore the brunt of it. Anyway, one day after a particularly sharp rebuke from the hermit, the shepherds set upon him, threw stones at him and then chased him to the shore. At this point, according to the story, the hermit hopped onto his cloak and floated to Gozo where he lived happily ever after. This floating cloak routine so impressed the shepherds that they repented their wickedness (possibly to the great relief of their flock) and built the church in his honour.
I went for a walk around the local bay today and was surprised to see sunbathers on the beach. They were mostly older people - I think that older people don't feel the cold so much - at least my granny didn't. I think it's a bit too cold to be sunbathing really, but it's not far off. And it's ideal conditions for walking. Once I was warmed up a t-shirt was sufficient. But it makes me a bit frightened about how I'm going to cope in the heat of the summer when it's this warm in January. Still, I have air conditioning, thank goodness.
I've been reading a book lately called 'On Food and Cooking' by Harold McGee. It explains the chemistry, in layman's terms fortunately, that underlies cooking. It debunks some received wisdom about cooking techniques, and explains why others are correct. It is highly acclaimed. I first heard about it in The Economist's Intelligent Life magazine, and then again on Hestor Blumenthal's cooking program 'Kitchen Chemistry'. I'm hoping that my cooking will improve if I understand a bit more about the science behind it.
He quotes a joke from a recipe book. They say that the old jokes are the best; well this ought to be really funny as it is from 1475 and so makes the one about the chicken crossing the road look positively new. It made me giggle anyway. It appeared in 'De honesta voluptate et valetudine' by Platina:
Eggs on a Spit
Pierce eggs lengthwise with a well-heated spit and parch them over the fire as if they were meat. They should be eaten hot. This is a stupid invention and unsuitable and a cook's joke.
